


Ridiculous Self-Indulgence: An Elfquest AU

by Not_You



Category: Elfquest, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Elves, Healing Sex, M/M, Mating Bond, Multi, Polyamory, Recognition, Shapeshifting, Size Difference, Telepathy, Wolves, this use of healing powers is canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-12-25 00:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12024450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: So I've been rereading all the online Elfquest and now you're coming with me on this magical journey.  Don't look at me, I'm a monster.If you know the comic, this is like if the wolf-riders had gone straight to Blue Mountain instead of to Sorrow's End, and if Winnowill hadn't gone completely batshit yet.If you don't know the comic, Will, Jack, and the labrats are tiny telepathic elves that ride giant wolves.  Strap in, this isn't very well-written.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm clearly failing to show all these things by context, even though I hate this kind of primer on a fic, here we are:
> 
> 1\. Names:  
> Fisher - Will  
> Lekter - Hannibal  
> Stitcher - Beverly  
> Hunter - Zeller  
> Reads Signs - Jimmy  
> Firstlight - Bella  
> Far Seer - Jack  
> Alana - Alana  
> Bedelia - Bedelia
> 
> 2\. Relative sizes:  
> The wolfriders live fast and die young, so between that and being part wolf, none of them get as tall as regular elves. They top out at about four feet, while the tall elves can be six feet or more. Lekter is a big spooky six-foot plus tall elf, and Fisher is about three and a half feet tall. They'll make it work.

Fisher has never been so tired in his life, but he stays upright on Nightwalker's back, hands knotted into his wolf-friend's fur. No one else is any better off and many are worse, and Fisher is a chieftess's son. Taking care of the tribe is his job. There's no good time of year to be burned out of your holt, but early autumn with nowhere to go but the mountains is a particularly bad one. He pulls his cloak tighter and grits his teeth to keep them from chattering. All the best furs are wrapped around the wounded. He turns to look back down that line of pitiful travois, and Stitcher rolls her eyes at him.

 _You know,_ she sends, _I'm a better scout than you anyway, let me take point._

 _You scout better, lifebearer,_ he tells her, looking forward again, _but obviously I have better sense._

She just sighs and puts a hand on her belly, lovingly complaining to the child about their chief's bad manners. Fisher squints into the snow and thinks again that he would do almost anything for some game. Like an answer to the wish, a huge bird rises up out of the mist and snow and they can't harm it. The certainty is sudden and total, and Fisher doesn't even waste a shout, wheeling Nightwalker around and sending as hard as he can to Hunter not to shoot. His bow is already raised, of course, but as Nightwalker comes up beside his wolf, he lowers it, snarling into Fisher's mind about his stupid fucking visions and how they can't eat Fisher's bullshit. Fisher is about to snarl back when they realize that the bird hasn't gone anywhere, and is in fact circling lower and lower.

 _If it snatches you and eats you, can I shoot it?_ Hunter growls, and Will ignores him, sending to everyone to stay calm. There's something very deliberate about the bird's flight, almost like the way the tribe's wolf-friends move with them. And then Stitcher catches sight of the rider, and the knowledge ripples through them all. The giant bird lands on a spire of rock, and the elf on its back tumbles off with languid grace to float down to their level, a display of the old powers that brings audible gasps, and makes the less-wounded sit up in an attempt to see better.

She lands daintily on one toe, almost as tall as a human and clothed in skin-tight blackness that seems to pull all the glare of the snow into it. It's a relief to look at, even as they tighten the ranks in case she's a threat. She stands where she is, tilting her head to one side. The bird does the same, and they both just stand and watch Fisher's tribe for a long moment.

 _Are you really elves?_ she sends at last, and there's a strange feeling to it, like cool stone.

 _Are you?_ Fisher sends back. Her reply is a ripple of amusement that sends a noticeable chill down his spine even in this cold.

 _So small,_ she muses. _So young. Little cousins, you remind me of when we had children._

 _When did that stop?_ is Fisher's first question, because they have children with them now, snugged down with the wounded to share warmth. He's always afraid of eye contact, since he's seen what Recognition can do to people, but he risks a glance and sees her blue eyes huge with surprise, a few golden curls escaping her hood.

 _Even now?_ she asks, barely believing, and Fisher shudders at the ease with which she picked that fact out of his head.

 _Even now._ There's no lie in sending, so if he can't even omit, he might as well be direct. _We were burned out of our holt, and we need food and somewhere out of the snows. If you want to fight, we'll sell our lives more dearly than you can imagine._

She laughs aloud, the sound almost lost in the wind. _Precious, brave little cousin, we would not harm you for the world. Keep your current path,_ she sends, _we'll be back._

After that, the only person not discussing this is Far Seer. He has barely even sent since the fire, let alone spoken. He just takes his shifts guarding the rear and spends all the rest of his time by his lifemate's side. Firstlight has only opened her eyes twice this entire time, and Fisher can feel that she's dying. He hasn't said anything to anyone because there's no point. All they can do is keep going, and he lets the telepathic conversation flow around his mind. Stitcher's baby is so near to being born that his mind is a bright little spark of curiosity among the rest and Fisher is thinking about how they can possibly keep him from freezing if he's fool enough to be born out here, when birds fill the sky. Many of them are even bigger than the first one, carrying a whole cadre of the same sort of tall, pale elves. They lead the way to a slightly protected basin of rock, and then their birds shuffle up in a circle, wings spread. 

Being hemmed in like this is terrifying, but getting much colder will be lethal. The smell of bird is overpowering, but the massive wings block the wind, and their body heat finally lets Fisher's jaw unclench. He still sends, because there's no blocking the noise of the wind. _Are any of you healers?_

Three of them are, and Fisher leaps off of Nightwalker's back to take them to Firstlight's side, arranging the rest of the wounded on the basis of urgency while the children stare at these new allies and they stare back. Stitcher laughs and makes the first introductions, as she sits on a stone to rest, absently scratching her wolf's ears. The wolves can't help but be nervous about these giant birds of prey and their strange elves, but they know to keep the peace.

Fisher wants to just roll up in a fur and collapse, but he stays awake, watching the healers work and the others pass out food and blankets. The food is strange stuff, but they have eaten far worse. Some of that grain stuff humans make, along with cooked meat and dried plant foods. A sending from the first rider makes him jolt out of his examination of it.

_Please, actually eat some. I can assure you that it is safe._

Fisher picks up a piece of the meat and gnaws on it dismally. He should have tasted it first to be sure, but half the children are already eating and he keeps telling people that a bloodline doesn't make a chief. They probably should all just listen to Far Seer, but here they are.


	2. Chapter 2

The worst wounded and Stitcher go ahead of the main body, and it makes Fisher feel like his heart is being pulled out of his chest. He drags the rest of the tribe over the mountain paths as fast as he can without pushing them too far, desperate to reunite the tribe. The wolves are as tired as anyone, and so footsore that the elves walk whenever they can. The gliders come by to encourage them and to bring more food and healing, and Fisher can't even be grateful until he has everyone together again.

At least they have the children, perked right back up after two days of enough to eat. They're fascinated by the huge birds and their riders, and the riders can't seem to get enough of gazing into those big innocent eyes and listening to their disjointed prattle. Fisher is just glad to see the cubs happy about anything. His thoughts keep turning to Stitcher and wondering who the child's sire is. It could be himself, something that always makes him feel odd. He doesn't take many love-mates, but Stitcher has a way of talking him into things. She makes almost everything the tribe wears, and Fisher finds himself running his fingertips over and over the stitching of his ragged cloak. Feeling like this is part of why Fisher is terrified of Recognition, beyond the obvious. He already feels so much for his tribe that he doubts he could bear any more.

Fisher is still brooding when the Blue Mountain rises up before them. The home of the gliders looks cold and forbidding, but before they can examine it much the wind kicks up and blasts them mercilessly with snow. Fisher stands by the rock-shaped opening of the mountain and touches each wolf-rider mind as it goes by, making sure everyone is here. Once he's inside, he leans against the wall and takes part in the general reaching-out to loved ones already here. At first they can't even see the vast, ornate chamber they inhabit, too busy making sure that all the wounded have come through, and that Stitcher is comfortable.

 _As comfortable as I can be, bloated with this cub!_ she calls back, and Hunter beams before he can stop himself. Reads Signs doesn't even try, and their graceful, floating hosts lead the two to their love-mate, as others come to guide the tribe to their wounded.

Once Fisher is sure that everyone is here and alive, he looks for a place to collapse. The mountain is so strange, everything formed by rock-shaper's work. The lavish use of magic gives the place a strange scent, and Fisher is glad to find a room full of wolf and wolf-rider smells, and shapes huddled on strange beds with familiar furs. He finds a place near Far Seer and Firstlight, both of them just listening to her easy breath. They're the oldest of the tribe, and are still so young next to the gliders. Fisher shudders, and curls into a tight ball for warmth, Nightwalker lying against his back, calm and soothing as ever.

Fisher sleeps for a long, long time. He has only had a few snatched hours here and there for the past two weeks, at least. By the time he wakes up, everyone else has met Lord Alana, whose mountain this is, and many of them have sleek black glider clothing.

"Come on, chieftain," Reads Signs says, offering him a set of his own "we have to produce you at some point, and you might as well be presentable."

"As if it matters," Fisher grumbles, but he pulls on the black glider-stuff and has to admit that it's very comfortable.

"That's better. You know Stitcher hates to see us in rags, anyway."

"How is she?" Fisher asks, fitting his arms into the clinging sleeves.

"Still getting heavier, but the little one's time is coming." He pats Fisher's shoulder and then stands back so that he can rise to his feet, performing his usual waking stretches along with Nightwalker. When Fisher checks Nightwalker's pads, he's pleased to find them healed. "I'm glad our hosts weren't too nervous to help our wolf-friends," he says, and scratches Nightwalker behind the ears before swinging up onto his back. He was prepared to have to face these enormous gliders at his own height and with no help, but it's good to be able to arrive in proper style.

It's a long way to Lord Alana's audience chamber, through ridiculous, vaulted halls. They don't even bear cubs anymore, why do they need so much space? He has to admit that the decorative rockwork is beautiful, but his longing for their lost holt is like a sickness. The click of Nightwalker's claws on the bare, smooth stone is like death.

As they approach their destination, some of the sickness lifts from Fisher, because there's a warm, homey feeling to the magic here, and to the multicolored light spilling out of the massive doorway. Fisher sits up straight and rides right down the middle of the wide path up to the lord's throne. When he gets there, she smiles down at him.

 _My eyes see you with joy, little cousin,_ she sends, and gestures for them to come up the steps. She may be tall and spindly like all the other gliders, but there's something homey about her.

 _Why are you so warm?_ he asks her, and her laughter ripples in his mind like a stream over rocks.

 _I am one of the youngest here,_ she sends, _maybe that's what you're feeling._

There's no way to be sure, but Fisher relaxes into it. Sending is easy with Alana, almost like it is with his own tribe. Soon he's sharing her seat, leaning on her like he can just barely remember doing with his mother, and learning all about life in the mountain. Nightwalker curls up at their feet and yawns, his whole body relaxed.

Everything is fine until Fisher and his wolf remember that they're hungry. Alana sends for someone to bring them meat, and when he comes all comfort is over. There's no real warning of any kind. He floats into the room like any other glider, bearing a silver tray, and greets them both as he sets it down on the arm of Alana's throne.

Fisher looks up, and up at this ancient being. He's not even floating anymore, he's just that tall. He gazes down at Fisher with a soft smile on his bony face, and deep, almost-red eyes. Fisher sees their color in a tiny glance, and then his gaze is caught and held, the sense of this elf, of Lekter, rolling over him. His soul-name spills out like it's nothing, before he can even think of it. He is Wil, and Lekter Recognizes him.

Fisher lets out a howl of absolute terror and bolts out of the room before he can even think about what shameful conduct this is for a chieftain. He runs as fast as his legs can carry him, through chamber after chamber until he's in a system of small, barely-modified caves. He finds one and curls up in it, hugging his knees to his chest and panting, trying to make his racing heart slow.

He can feel the tribe reaching for him, their concern a gentle, rising wave, ready to turn into a storm the second he reveals a good reason for it. With them is Lekter's questing mind, feeling so gently for Fisher that it almost disguises how completely he could destroy him. Fisher shivers, and forces himself to let his tribe know that he isn't hurt. Or at least, that no one has inflicted that hurt deliberately.


	3. Chapter 3

Fisher ignores Nightwalker's whining and everyone's concerned sendings until Stitcher's comes in, loud and clear. _Fisher,_ she says, _you must come and meet the cub._ There has always been something about Stitcher, too fearless for her own good. Fisher can never bring himself to fully shut her out.

 _I can't leave, he might be out there!_ It also helps that Stitcher is much older and remembers Fisher as a wide-eyed cub. It's always easier to admit his fears to her than to anyone else.

 _Who might... already, love-mate?_ There's some humor in it, but mostly concern.

 _It certainly wasn't my idea!_ Fisher howls back.

Stitcher opens up their sending, and much as Fisher resents her for that, he's equally grateful, because soon his tribe has assured him that through judicious diversions, there's a glider-free route back to their rooms. Nightwalker runs along it, Fisher clinging to his fur and trying not to shake with terror and the first symptoms of Recognition denied. He dives into his sleeping furs and curls into a tight ball until he remembers that he's supposed to meet the cub. And Recognition really is a hell of a thing, to distract Fisher from the fierce joy of a new wolf-rider.

Fisher follows Stitcher's scent to the smaller room where she and her cub are all bundled up in a hammock of furs, and for a moment everything is fine. Hunter is lurking near one anchor point of the hammock, absently fondling a dagger. Reads Signs is probably off making friends with gliders.

Fisher approaches quietly, but the sharp-eared little thing wakes up anyway, making a little snorting noise into Stitcher's chest and trying to turn his head. Stitcher shifts him so that he can see, and Fisher smiles, crouching and gazing into the cub's wide, blue eyes. Maybe it's because new cubs often have a sort of disgruntled look, but Fisher is pretty sure that this one is Hunter's.

 _Hello, little one,_ Fisher sends, and the cub gurgles quietly. 

Stitcher chuckles, stroking her son's dark, wispy hair. "I'm calling him Shadow for now," she says, and Fisher nods.

"A good name," he says, and then leans into hug Stitcher, careful not to crush Shadow between them. She sighs, and holds on for a long time.

 _You already feel feverish,_ she sends, and Fisher groans.

_He's male, there's not even any point!_

_Hunter and Reads Signs are Recognized,_ she reminds him, and he just grumbles. Between them, Shadow giggles, and that makes Fisher feel just that tiny bit better.

 _Face up to it, cub,_ Hunter sends, and Fisher makes a rude gesture at him without looking up. Hunter is only ten turns older and he hasn't stopped reminding Fisher of it since the day he tied his hair into the chief's lock. The worst part is that he's often right.

Fisher should just go and join with Lekter, get it over with, but he's so alien in Fisher's mind, so ancient. His very sending is strange, and another wave of terror ripples through Fisher at the thought. He clings to Stitcher for a moment and then forces himself to let go and sit back, to give her and Shadow some room to breathe.

_You wouldn't be so brave if Reads Signs was almost as tall as a human and closer to Timmain than anyone we've ever known!_

"Is this about your Recognized?" Reads Signs asks, stepping in with a massive silver platter full of meat. "We're all elves together, aren't we?" Fisher moves out of his way so he can kneel by the hammock and offer the meat to Stitcher. "There was some deer, but I left it for Firstlight, she needs building up."

"Of course she does," Stitcher says, gnawing on a rabbit haunch. "This is more than enough, love-mate. Take Hunter's place so he can eat."

"You know, it's bad manners to be standing guard," Reads Signs says, settling into place and taking out his own dagger.

 _You haven't asked me if I care,_ Hunter sends, taking the rabbit's forequarter.

Fisher knows that he's hungry, but the idea of eating is nauseating. He sighs, and curls up in another corner with Nightwalker. He can help guard Stitcher, because right now he cares even less about courtesy than Hunter does. Nightwalker whines and licks Fisher's face, and he sighs.

 _Get some sleep, chieftain,_ Reads Signs sends, and Fisher can't help a faint smile.

 _I guess, but at the rate I'm going Nightwalker will probably earn his name again._ Fisher has had multiple fevers in his life, even when no one else is sick, and even when he's well he sometimes walks in his sleep. Nightwalker always goes with him, and now Fisher knots his hands into Nightwalker's fur, clinging tightly even as he slides into sleep.

Given how life has been going lately, Fisher isn't surprised at all to wake up on his feet in the middle of some dim, glider hallway he hasn't seen before. He curses softly, and turns around. "Help me scent the way back," he whispers to Nightwalker, who puts his nose to the ground and lets Fisher lean on him. He feels feverish again, and chuckles. "It's funny," he mumbles to Nightwalker, almost as amused by the weakness in his legs as he is dismayed, "here I am, blood of the High Ones, and I'm as sickly as a human." He remembers the way plagues would take the tall ones, season after season, and how hard it was to watch, even with everything those five-fingered hands have taken from them.

 _Such a kind little creature._ The sending is soft and cool on Fisher's mind, and the longing to go to its source is almost as bad as the fear.

 _Don't touch me!_ Fisher snarls, crowding in against Nightwalker's side, shaking. He can feel Lekter coming closer, and buries his face in his wolf's fur. Nightwalker growls, and Lekter chuckles.

"I know," he says, "I know how close you are. I would never hurt any of your pack. Fisher," he says, and Fisher is so grateful not to hear his soul-name spoken aloud that it brings tears to his eyes, still hidden in Nightwalker's fur, "I won't touch you, but you must eat something and it will be easier in my presence."

Fisher feels like he should demand that Lekter send, since there's no lie in sending, but he can feel his stomach unknotting itself, and the feverish feeling is receding a little. He drags in a massive breath, and steps just enough away from Nightwalker to walk. He keeps a hand knotted in the wolf's fur, and stares at his feet as he walks beside Leker, because of course his room is right down the hall.


	4. Chapter 4

Lekter's room is smaller than Fisher would have expected, full of decorative rock-shaping and tapestry. There's a small rill pouring out of one wall and into a basin, making a restful sound. Lekter already has a platter of meat, and Fisher is glad to be able to ignore his problems for a moment in favor of devouring as much of it as he can hold.

"Better?" Lekter murmurs at last, and Fisher nods, flushing a little to think of what a ragged, sticky little creature he must seem. He risks a glance up, and Lekter gives him a smile so fond that it makes him look away again.

_It's not fair that I don't know your soul-name._

Lekter smiles, and his sending has the same cool, clean, alien quality as before. _Lekter is my only name, but you know my soul._ Fisher lets out a low, quivering whine and then claps a bloody hand over his mouth, humiliated by how obvious both the desire and the fear are in the sound. _Do you want to know how I see you?_ Lekter's sending caresses Fisher's mind, and he shivers. He isn't sure if he wants to know, but Lekter sends it to him anyway, an image of himself from the outside, tiny and fierce and so vibrantly alive. He can see the wolf blood in Fisher, and it doesn't seem to give him any pause at all. Fisher can't help but send back an image of his own, of Lekter tall, cold, and beautiful, nothing like the tribe or even like his lord, with her familiar warmth.

 _Of course you find Alana easier to talk to. She's like you._

There's some secret there that Fisher can feel, but he doesn't ask, turning his attention back to the red meat on the platter, since it's something he and Nightwalker can both comprehend. The wash of real, friendly affection that Lekter sends him makes him blush and shiver. There's terror with this, too, but also a softening of the fever, some gentle warmth in the midst of the burning. 

_I... I can't join with you. Not yet,_ Fisher sends, but he doesn't move away.

 _I have time enough to wait, little chieftain,_ Lekter sends, and Fisher shivers. Now that he and Nightwalker have eaten most of the meat, he's tired again, body exhausted from getting his tribe here in one piece and now having to deal with Recognition.

Lekter arranges his bedding comfortably, and then dampens a cloth in the basin and uses it to scrub the blood from Fisher's face and hands. It's like a colder, cleaner version of being lapped by a wolf, and Fisher shivers and mumbles complaints while Lekter chuckles.

"There now," he says softly, "you can share my bed without staining anything."

Fisher would make more objection to this plan if he couldn't feel how technically Lekter means his offer. He really does just want Fisher to sleep beside him, and with their souls all tangled, it probably will be better sleep than anywhere else. The thought of slipping out later does more than cross Fisher's mind, but he's entirely too exhausted to actually do it. Nightwalker grumbles at their separation from pack and tribe, but settles in on one side of the bed. It's strange to be up high like this, when Nightwalker is usually a wall of warmth in the sleep furs, but Fisher can still reach him, and he falls asleep with his hand wrapped into the fur between Nightwalker's shoulders.

Pain wakes Fisher up, rippling across the bond between him and Lekter. He sits up sharply, hand going for his sword before he sees that it's nothing he can fight. Lekter is sitting on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around himself and the longing ache in his bones. His mind is trying to sing Fisher's soul-name across their sending, and he's keeping a tight grip on it, breathing slowly and deeply, those red eyes shut. Fisher feels an answering ache, but he grits his teeth and sits up, not sure if he should touch Lekter or send to him. Both seem dangerous.

_Lekter?_

_Wil_ Lekter sends back, full of barely-contained longing.

Fisher sighs, and puts his arms around Lekter, resting his cheek against his back. _I just don't understand this,_ he admits. Same-sex Recognitions do happen, but they end to be cooler, softer, without this desperate fever. _I've thought that feeling like this was about making cubs,_ he adds, and is surprised to feel a burst of shyness from Lekter, who he already knows is hardly ever shy about anything.

Fisher can't help but send his curiosity, and Lekter responds with a stream of images, more like wolf-sending than communication between elves. There's a vast sense of time, though, of turns and turns passing inside the mountain, full of gliders who didn't need a healer's touch. At last Lekter slips outside, dropping his furs to the snow and shaping his own flesh the way the High Ones did. A graceful, heavy sort of snow cat pads away into the darkness of the forest. The seasons change and the snow falls and melts again and again until one spring the cat comes back, a tiny elf cub clinging to its back. With the truth of sending, Fisher knows that this is Alana, that Lekter is her mother.

Fisher lets his awe flow into Lekter, to counteract a little flare of embarrassment coming through the connection. He's still alarmed to be Recognized to this near High One, but he is filled with nothing but respect for a course of action so like Timmain's. He is wondering how Alana isn't a hairy wild thing like Timmorn Yellow-Eyes, and when Lekter sends him the memory of carefully altering his own milk as a mother snow cat to keep his daughter more elven than not, the sheer power it would take to do such a thing scares Fisher all over again.

 _I am what I am, Wil,_ Lekter sends, and Fisher sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

 _I know._ He suddenly laughs. _I was wondering what the point even was, but if you can flesh-shape like that..._

_Yes. I am more than capable of carrying your child, Wil. More than that, I want to._ There's a wave of affection in the sending, and Fisher feels himself flush all over when Lekter adds, _Even without this, I would have wanted you for a love-mate, little one._

Fisher hides his eyes against Lekter for a moment, and then sits back, giving him room to turn. He reaches for Fisher, and when he meets no resistance, he bundles him into his lap.


	5. Chapter 5

With their bond, Lekter knows how long it has been since Fisher has had a lovemate, and to be gentle with him and not pitch their bloodsong too high at first. It's still almost too much, and Fisher feels very small in Lekter's arms. He straddles Lekter's lap and hides his face in that elongated chest, wondering how they'll fit together. Lekter sends him an image of himself, flesh-shaped to look like a wolfrider. He's pretty that way, but it's all wrong, and Lekter's pleasure at feeling that warms Fisher's heart. He strokes Fisher's hair, and delicately fingers his chief's lock. Fisher knows he can trust him not to untie it, even if he doesn't know its full meaning.

 _Such a lovely little creature,_ Lekter murmurs in his mind. _Dainty and fierce at once, and your eyes..._

 _Yours are full of starlight,_ Fisher replies, embarrassed but determined to be truthful.

Lekter chuckles, and carefully pushes Fisher's glider garment down, exposing him to the waist. It's silly to feel so vulnerable at just half-nudity when the whole tribe often bathed together in their home river, but he does, and when he looks up at Lekter, those red eyes are warm.

 _I don't know how much I want you is Recognition, and how much is what I would feel anyway._ Fisher trembles, and squirms when he feels Lekter hard beneath him. He hasn't changed a thing, still obviously male, and Fisher sends him a question without words. Lekter chuckles, and gently digs his fingernails into the back of Fisher's neck like the bite he can't give from this angle. 

"I want to enjoy you in my own person before I must change myself for so long," he says. "May I?" 

With the words comes a sending of himself thrusting inside Fisher, and Fisher shudders and whines. That isn't a thing he has done very often, but he has liked it every time. When the winter is at its coldest and loneliest, Fisher trees with Stitcher, Hunter, and Reads Signs. He has also taken Reads Signs, but Hunter is only comfortable with Fisher on the receiving end.

 _I'm not sure why he's like that,_ Fisher sends, _but I don't mind._ He shares a few memories of being driven into the furs and of Stitcher's little fingers slipping into him.

 _We could start with that,_ Lekter murmurs into Fisher's mind, and he blushes, nodding as he hides his face against Lekter's chest again. He whimpers as Lekter lifts him up and puts him down on the furs again, flat on his back so that Lekter can curl around him, able to comfortably nibble his ear and grip his cock at the same time. Fisher moans and rocks up into that touch, shuddering as a wave of warmth rolls through him from the contact. It's not the usual kind, and he suddenly remembers everything he has ever heard about joining with healers. 

The whine that comes out of his throat is a mix of pleasure and raw terror, and Lekter murmurs soothingly in his mind, keeping it at languorous warmth, just wanting to share that since his precious Wil has been cold for so long. Fisher moans as much as the use of his soul name as at any touch, and Lekter sighs, biting his neck and sliding that hand up to gently pinch both of Fisher's nipples in turn, making him squirm and pant, each helpless little exhale barely voiced. He's dimly aware of Nightwalker clicking out of the room and into the hallway, where if he follows his usual habit, he'll guard until Fisher comes to collect him. 

After that last sensible thought, Fisher is lost in the bloodsong. Lekter is very gentle with him as promised, and pitches it higher and higher as slowly as he can bear to. Fisher doesn't even know what Lekter uses to slick his fingers, and howls when they slide into him, more easily than anyone else's ever have. They're the longest he's ever had, too, as well as radiating all that power inside him now, and all he can do is pant and moan and clutch helplessly at Lekter's black garment, his long white hair, the bedding, anything in reach, his hands as useless as the rest of him.

 _Want your skin,_ Fisher sends, long past the audible speech that the gliders use so much more often, and Lekter shudders and groans.

"Yes," he gasps, and then has to pull his fingers out, which is almost unendurable. 

But then Lekter is naked against him, white hair and nearly white skin making him seem even more unreal than he already does. He works his fingers back inside, but now it's so much better, because Fisher can clutch at that flawless skin and leave red marks and feel just how much Lekter loves it. Fisher drags him down to bite the crook of his neck, and Lekter moans, rutting against Fisher's thigh, almost as his knee because of their ridiculous height difference. Something about it makes Fisher's heart speed up, and Lekter shudders and gasps.

 _I thought we were pitching our bloodsong low,_ he gasps into Fisher's mind, and Fisher growls back.

 _Take me,_ he sends, and Lekter shudders. 

This time Fisher gets a look at the little pot of some kind of oil he has been using, and then Lekter is pushing into him and he can't keep his eyes open or his mouth shut, groaning as Lekter sinks in to his full length, which does seem to increase a bit with height. He starts slowly, and Fisher is grateful, because he always needs a moment of stillness and a few shallow thrusts before he can really enjoy anything rougher. Once he's over that point, though, he wants everything he can get.

Even though it's embarrassing, after a few minutes Fisher sends Lekter what he really wants. A wolfrider on all fours seems like a joke, but dammit, the wolves are onto something. Lekter chuckles at the thought, and pulls out, rolling Fisher onto his belly. Fisher shudders and spreads his legs, lowering his chest and forming his back into a perfect arch. 

Behind him, Lekter shudders, and then lines himself up again, plunging into Fisher and making him let out a cracked wail he has never heard from himself before. Lekter sighs, a sound of utter delight, and does everything in his power to get Fisher to make that noise again. Fisher obliges him, past thinking about the way his voice is probably ringing down the hall, not thinking of anything but Lekter, wrapped over his small body and buried deep inside, taking him and protecting him and filling him with wave after wave of warm, healing magic. He has a strange, wild wish that Lekter could get him pregnant, wishing that this joining could breed him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas/whatever, here's something that isn't more of that damn Metal Gear AU. God/whatever bless us, every one. <3

Fisher is still tired from his journey, but after that first frenzied round, Lekter keeps the bloodsong low and slow, the two of them twined together for hours, Lekter's long white hair shrouding them both. Fisher bites him on the chest because he can't reach his neck, and Lekter groans every time, pressing himself into the touch, his sending a jumble of affectionate lust and delight in how small and how fierce Fisher is, worthy prey under his paws.

 _Beautiful snow cat,_ Fisher growls into his mind, and Lekter lets out a breathless laugh.

Even with the endurance of elves and Lekter's healing powers they have to rest, eventually. Sooner than they might have if Fisher wasn't still recovering from his journey here, but Lekter has some mercy on him and lets him ease down into a long sleep. He demands another round in the morning, but then lets Fisher go check on his tribe. He can't help but feel a bit sheepish, but he's glad to be home. Nightwalker sniffs him embarrassingly thoroughly but at last lets him go to greet the others. Firstlight is properly awake again, and Fisher kneels by her bed for a long time, just basking in her presence when they have been so close to losing her.

 _I see that I've missed quite a bit of excitement,_ she sends, not strong enough to speak. Fisher has to agree that her energy is better employed in stroking his hair, a small, faint movement, but a definite one.

 _I'm still scared to be Recognized,_ he tells her, _but I feel better knowing I'll be able to keep my best adviser._

 _I could never leave my poor little chief all alone,_ she teases, and then her sending softens, as she looks over at Far Seer, sitting close by, _or my lifemate._

The whole tribe is glad to have Fisher back, and everyone teases him about his Recognition, their voices and sendings full of delight. There are too few of them, and the promise of another cub so soon after Shadow has everyone a bit giddy. The little dreamberry bushes that Reads Signs had been able to save are probably another major contributor to the feeling. They're large and sturdy now, rooted in cups of stone and accelerated with Far Seer's tree-shaping.

"We need to have a howl," Read Signs says, "and we need to meet this Glider of yours."

"He's not mine," Fisher says, and Reads Signs just laughs. 

Little Fletcher slides herself in under Fisher's arm, gazing up at him with her sharp eyes. "We need to meet him," she says, "to find out if he's worthy of our chief."

"Worthy has nothing to do with it," Reads Signs tells her, and Fisher smiles, hugging her with the arm she has wrapped around herself.

 _He's right. But you're not wrong. He's bound to the tribe now, you should know him,_ Fisher sends to both of them.

 _It sure smells like you've joined enough to come out and be sociable,_ Fletcher sends with a theatrical sniff, and then dances away before Fisher can tug her hair in irritation, not too old to act like a cub himself, sometimes.

Fisher asks around, and his tribe is very much in need of a howl. Lekter can go to it or not, as he prefers, but Fisher has Reads Signs call a howl for tomorrow night. Stitcher chuckles, where she's still lounging in the hammock with Shadow. Wolfrider women often don't get the luxury of lying in, so they take it when they can. Fisher takes his turn in the general project of pampering her, carefully picking all the tiny little stemlets off of her dried berries for her. While he's there, people come in and out to tell him all the fascinating things they've discovered about the mountain, and about their hosts. They've found good places to run the wolves, learned the games Gliders play in bad weather (apparently they don't throw bones here,) and a few have started to make friends with the giant birds. There are also several suggestions for where to hold the howl, and he takes them all into consideration.

Much as he wants to stay with his tribe when they start drifting to sleep in the early morning, Fisher finds himself pulled back to Lekter's room, the low burning of partially-sated Recognition flaring back up into longing. Nightwalker lets out a resigned sigh, but follows his elf-friend back, leaving the warm pile of his packmates.

When they get close to Lekter's room, he starts to sing Fisher's soul-name across their connection, and by the time Fisher reaches the door he can hardly bear the touch of his clothes on his skin, because it's not Lekter. He yanks everything off and flings it aside without a thought, tackling Lekter into the furs and making him laugh.

Now that they've already taken some of the edge off, they're slow and playful, taking the time to really explore. Lekter traces each of Fisher's scars and listens to their stories, and sends stories of his own, about raising Alana, and about his sisters, gone years ago on a quest to find more elves and now presumed lost. The grief has softened a little with time, but it's still a terrible, yawning thing, and Fisher hugs him tightly. He has his own vision for a quest, but he couldn't leave Lekter behind. He can't help spilling the idea across their sending.

 _I will go with you,_ Lekter sends, soft and intimate, and kisses Fisher's forehead. They lie together in cozy silence for a while, and then Lekter sends, _Dearest Wil, would you be angry to know that I spent some of today working on my Wolfrider form?_

 _I think I only disliked it at first because Recognition demands truth,_ Fisher sends, and Lekter laughs in his mind. He starts to change, and Fisher watches in fascination as that long form dwindles down to the compact body of a Wolfrider. He would have face-fur at his age if he were the real thing, but he's pretty without it, deep red eyes even more of a shock on a smaller frame.

"You do have such light and graceful forms," Lekter murmurs, running a curious little hand down his own chest. Fisher shivers, watching him. "Little cousin, I am glad to Recognize you," Lekter says, and takes Fisher's hand, guiding it to his pallid skin. 

Fisher's hand looks brown and rough against Lekter, and he can feel Lekter's pleasure in the contrast and in the touch. Fisher shudders and pushes Lekter onto his back in the furs, following him down. He goes easily, making a quiet, crooning noise as he wraps himself around Fisher. This way he's a little smaller than Fisher, instead of about twice his size, and Fisher cradles the back of his head in one hand. It's silly, but he feels a little protective of Lekter in this form. He's touched to feel less amusement from his mate than a sweet and genuine sense of being honored.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ridiculous Self-Indulgence: An Elfquest AU by Not_You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12254616) by [jazzy2may](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzy2may/pseuds/jazzy2may)




End file.
